


Rise Up (Like Gold)

by TheFantabulousPandemonium



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (pedophiles get what's coming to them), Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Chamber of Secrets AU, Child vampire, Chronic Illness, Consequences of Time Travel, Creature Fic, Creature Harry Potter, Dark Harry, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Horcruxes, Hufflepuff Harry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Knockturn Alley, Languages and Linguistics, M/M, Magical Dudley Dursley, Mentor Voldemort, Past Child Abuse, Pedophilia, Possessiveness, Pre-Slash, Prefect Harry Potter, Prophecy, Reluctant Mentoring, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Harry Potter, Squib Petunia Dursley, TA Tom Riddle, Technically Speaking, Time Shenanigans, Tom Riddle's Diary, Touch Aversion, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, Vampire Harry Potter, Vampires, anika is a treasure and i love her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-10-28 12:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFantabulousPandemonium/pseuds/TheFantabulousPandemonium
Summary: A collection of stories and ideas that aren't going anywhere in particular.





	1. Heavy, Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you feel inspired by any of these feel free to use them (with perhaps a link back as credit, but idc yeah)
> 
> Themes: creaturefic, smart!harry, severus gets reluctantly roped into somewhat caring for the boy

Albus Dumbledore certainly wasn’t expecting Snape to pull him aside before he could abscond to his office, alone, nor did he expect the Potion’s Master to hiss that there was something quite _wrong_ with Harry Potter. He had, of course, noticed the fact. There was indeed something rather unsettling about Harry, which, if his suspicions were correct, was why he was treated as such by his family. Petunia had always been a bit prickly when it came to that sort of thing.

Snape’s murmured insults towards the boy’s father drew him out of his thoughts.

“- _looks_ like a Potter, unfortunately, but he feels like Her mother, Albus.” He didn’t know how Severus had managed to imply the capital, but he had and it was rather curious.

Lily Evans had been a rather average muggleborn, with a slight aptitude for charms and potions - a curious mix, indeed. He’d spoken to her father himself, when she’d gotten her letter and Petunia hadn’t, but the woman’s mother? That was a mystery.

He resolved to keep a close eye on the new Gryffindor, and told Severus as such. The professor just gave him a derisive snort and turned towards his office in the dungeons. Albus moved to enter his own office with an airy ‘lemon drops’, sweeping into the room and giving Fawkes a loving stroke.

At least the boy was in Gryffindor instead of, Merlin forbid, _Slytherin_.


	2. (I Care) What You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: smart!harry, horcrux!harry does as he pleases, and what he pleases is usually trouble, mentions of a few ocs, would probably follow SS/PS

Albus peered down into the unsettlingly quiet child’s eyes. The empty mindscape, more of a mist than an actual place, was right where it should be, the few memories the boy could yet remember flashing around him. For a moment, everything was bright, bright green before it faded into black with a garbled mess of words. Then, a voice echoed from behind him. It was clear and almost as bright as the colour, high and slightly out of breath, and he recognised it immediately.

_No._

Albus whirled, his wand immediately in his hand. There was nothing behind him but the same mist. But the voice continued, petulant, and terrifying dread clutched at his own throat.

_You’re not allowed to have him. He’s **mine**._

* * *

Mr. Smithe was a kindly older man with droopy eyes and tired grey hair, but he loved teaching and children and paid attention to each of the kids in his class. Frances Bernard was behind in maths, by only just a little bit and she was doing so well catching up with the others. Piers Polkiss had a bit of trouble with sharing, but he was rather sure the boy would grow out of it soon enough. Harry Potter had trouble speaking correctly.

It was the last child Mr. Smithe was slightly worried about. The boy was painfully shy, in part due to his very slight stutter and rather silly lisp. The last bit wasn't something especially worrying, considering it was only a tendency to hiss his s’s. And the boy couldn’t seem to get his pronouns straight. I became we and he or she became they, as well as the reverse. And, as all precocious children were, the child was absolutely convinced it was right. And that, the teacher suspected, was why he’d come back from recess with bruises.

He’d brought it up with Harry’s aunt in one of the conferences, only to receive word that the boy was likely starting the fights himself. Shame, that.

* * *

“We’re not-” Harry cut himself off, because He was indeed something special, “I’m not anything special. I’m just Harry.”


	3. Loyalty (Only to Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: time-travel shenanigans, TMR/HP, hufflepuff!harry, past abuse, *wonka voice* there's no earthly way of knowing which direction this is even going

Harrison Evans didn’t touch anyone.

It had taken half a year of observation before he noticed. The half-blood sat slightly apart from his housemates, shoulders uncomfortably scrunched up and his knees firmly together in the great hall to avoid the far-reaching limbs of the people sitting next to him. Nor did he make contact outside of what was required for classwork. It was... Curious.

Tom realized the other boy didn’t take up much space, either. Sure, he was about average height, slightly on the smaller side though he would probably come up to Riddle’s nose, but the half-blood was thin and wild-looking.

He absolutely had to have him.

* * *

Tom offered his hand. Harrison stared at it like he expected it to do tricks. Slowly, the other’s eyes flicked to his face and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at the suspicious glare.

Evans didn’t take it, instead choosing to push himself up and dust himself off. His theory was right, then.

* * *

Even among his house, the half-blood didn’t have anyone to confide in. He had friends, yes, and acquaintances, study partners, and mentors, but no one who the younger student could put his undying loyalty on the line for. And a Hufflepuff without loyalty was like asking a Slytherin to give up their ambitions or a Ravenclaw their books.

Tom intended - he didn’t put his faith in such trivial things as _hope_ \- to be that person.

* * *

All he could think was _mine_ , _mine_ , _mine_.

* * *

Tom was finally touching him. A hand brushed away black strands from the other’s face, though he didn’t miss the slight flinch, and Evans’ grip on his sleeve was nearly electrifying. They were terribly close, enough so that he could feel the half-blood’s breathe on his chin and could see every minute expression that flickered over the boy’s face.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly.


	4. Another Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: dark to dark grey!harry, raising a child in knockturn (is probably a bad idea), mentions of several ocs, language kink(s?), harry returns to hogwarts under a different name, who knows where this is going because i don't

He grew up in Knockturn, slipping through wizards and witches just past the wrong side of human.

* * *

Madam’s shop was deep in the heart of Knockturn, nestled comfortably between a confectionery and a small, secondhand bookstore. It had a boring stone facade and an old wooden sign hanging out over the broken pavement of the alley, its door a solid-looking wood and the small windows clean and filled with various colours. Stained glass, Gauven, the owner of The Bouncing Bee, had told him. Much like the windows they used for muggle churches.

He’d met precious few muggles since he came to the Alley. Most seemed to have a low opinion of the non-magical folk, but the shop catering to vampires around the corner kept a few for errands and they were interesting company, to say the least.

* * *

Madam called him Sunshine.

He’d stumbled upon the shop on a cloudless day, after a quick escape from an irate wizard that didn’t like that someone had taken advantage of the fact that they kept their pouch where it could easily be stolen. It was warm inside, enough to make him stop to breathe, crouching down against the wooden door when the yelling man thundered past. When his eyes flicked up to take in the surrounding atmosphere, Madam had been staring at him with a faint smile and a curious air.

* * *

Anika Parthenopos was the Madam of The Kneazle and Cloak, a rather small shop that lingered just on the edges of being a brothel, if not for the fact that it was not advertised, nor would it ever be advertised as such. She was a seamstress by education and a solicitor of small protective goods by trade. Of course, it didn’t help that most of the protection came from magics made illegal by the Ministry, but that hardly deterred her clients.

* * *

Sunshine was small for his age, with wild hair and an even wilder personality that came from surviving Knockturn and learning to thrive in the dark corners the alley provided. He was persuasive and clever as well, sharp green eyes observing everything and several things she could only guess at. The boy was gifted in magic, though kept a tight control on both his emotions and any accidental outbursts, and had somehow wheedled the vampire down the road to teach him how to read and write in quite a few languages.

Anika, herself, was fluent in several. One needed to know them to survive the influx of people in the Alley. Gobbledygook was a given, for how often she had to interact with the Bank, and she’d picked up Latin and Old Norse for her business. With her knowledge of Runes, as well, she considered herself rather competent.

Though, she’d been looking into Parseltongue at Sunshine’s request. The boy could speak it fluently and had absolutely no idea where it’d come from.

* * *

“I don’t want to go.” Sunshine huffed, squirming in his chair and eyeing the letter on the counter with obvious distaste. Camber, their resident and namesake Kneazle, dug his claws into the boy’s thigh after he’d stopped being pet. The loud purr filled the silence as Madam went over the writing once more.

“Besides,” the child continued, giving the magical cat a firm scratch under its chin, “that’s not my name.”

Madam chuckled.

* * *

Purebloods didn’t like coming down to Madam’s end of the Alley. So it was a curious day indeed when the bell rang and the most esteemed Lady Malfoy was coming in when Sunshine lifted his eyes from the book he’d been scanning. She held her head high and came alone, fingers clutching her wand tightly underneath her robes and instantly dismissing the small boy in the corner. He quirked a small smile, watching as she conversed lowly with Madam, who looked absolutely delighted.

Of course, it had to do more with the woman’s money than Lady Malfoy herself.

Slyly, Sunshine slid the piece of paper he was using as a bookmark into the book, setting it aside and moving toward the two at the counter. Madam hid a smile as she showed off some of the finer silverwork the shop carried, blood magic and protective runes running through the hollow middle and more concentrated in the delicate dragon pendant that endlessly circled a small, polished piece of malachite.

He waited patiently until the deal was done before touching the woman’s elbow lightly, the delighted smirk at startling her hidden under wide eyes and a concerned set of his mouth.

“Ma’am, if I may?” Waiting until he received a nod, Sunshine made sure to keep his voice as light as his name. “It’s rather dangerous for one such as yourself here at such an hour.”

* * *

Sunshine fiddled with his necklaces nervously. He knew, of course, what name the stern professor was going to call.


	5. Come To the Labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: vampire!harry, sane-ish!voldemort, bloodplay, mentions of pedophilia, casual mentions of murder, harry lies a lot about his age

None of the Death Eater’s attending the full moon’s meeting expected to see such an obvious vampire within their ranks, let alone standing beside the Dark Lord himself and staring at them with poorly concealed delight. They were small and thin, with messy black hair and a grin that threatened to split their face with its width. It wasn’t hard to figure out their purpose.

Voldemort was in the midst of several tentative talks and alliances with the creatures, and had been for several months. Most of the Inner Circle accompanied him at one point or another, though they’d never seen the child before them at any of them.

The representative was still to be treated with respect, if the look in their Lord’s eyes was anything to go by. One by one, the Death Eaters lowered their eyes and knelt, missing the shared glance of amusement between the two in front of them.

* * *

The sunlight was bright, even through the stained glass windows illuminating the Dark Lord’s meeting room. It had formerly been the ballroom of the manor, before its repurposing and the installation of a long, low table and several high-backed chairs, but it was rather comfortable for doing paperwork in.

Presently, he was the only occupant, scanning through documents that were scattered over both his lap and the dark wood before him. Treaties, mostly, the demands of several sides outlined in fine black ink. He ignored the ones from Dumbledore and the Order and burnt them. The Dark Lord briefly mused on sending the ashes back just to show them what he thought of their propositions until something - or, rather, someone - shifted beneath the table and drew his attention away.

Small, pale hands darted out to grip at his trousers, still safely concealed within the deep shadows, before pressing itself between his legs. Voldemort stilled his mouth from moving into a smirk, carefully not letting his eyes leave the pages. The quiet noise of their breathing echoed through the chamber, broken only by his words several minutes later.

“I still don’t know your name, child.” A quiet hiss came from near his feet. He’d guessed right, then. Though, there were few small enough and brave enough to even get this close, reckless immortal children aside.

“You know far too much to be trusted with that, _my Lord_.” The child murmured from his indecent position, fingertips tapping against his knees. The Dark Lord hummed a question, not bothering to acknowledge any the boy any more than he already had. Thin fingers stopped him from lifting one of the stacks onto the table, nails digging harshly into the parchment, and bright green eyes narrowed at him from his peripheral vision.

“Names hold power, _Voldemort_ , and it would be beneficial to remember as such.” The jab at his own chosen name wasn’t lost on the elder of the two. He raised a brow, rewarded a few moments later when the vampire huffed and tried to shuffle closer without burning himself.

“After all I’ve done for you?” The Dark Lord mocked in a low voice, easily ignoring the clear warning of a snarling flash of fangs. Voldemort didn’t bother hiding the malicious grin.

* * *

“I can’t change my Fate but you, _my Lord_ , have options.” Sharp teeth grazed his jaw and the child gave him an absolutely wicked smile, looking up from under his lashes. The vampire was perched on his lap this time, sitting just at the edge of his knees and resting his head on the arm curled around the Dark Lord’s shoulders.

The room, aside from the pair, was empty, though he could hear the faint shuffle of his servants outside the wide double doors. His breath was uncomfortably hot against Voldemort’s neck and a shiver worked its way up his spine from both the closeness and the boy’s statement.

He had _options_.

He had options aside from his poisonous Horcruxes or Flamel’s infuriating stone. Not ones he needed to consider now, however much the thought of turning him might thrill the child, but it didn’t stop him from continuing.

“It’s a rather simple process, you see,” the vampire began, shifting his position to sit across Voldemort’s lap instead, kicking his legs back and forth into the air, “an exchange of blood and a brief period of the most _excruciating_ pain you’d never even imagine, then you’re absolutely golden until someone decides you’re not worth the effort and stakes you in the heart.”

A brief grin flashed across the child’s face but he could see the slight twitch into a grimace, the way his eyes darkened before the emotion was gone and the Dark Lord was left wondering where the boy had picked up such a muggle-sounding phrase.

“Don’t you worry so, I wouldn’t let you die like the others.” He cooed, pressing his nose to the underside of Voldemort’s jaw with a giggle. The child hummed lightly when he didn’t get a reply, curling closer and tucking his toes into the Dark Lord’s cloak with little fear.

So many questions, so little answers.

* * *

His followers soon found themselves with armfuls of the vampire after their first official meeting. The child never adorned one lap for more than a night in a row, basking in the attention the Death Eaters were forced to give him. It would have been amusing to watch the various reactions but he was trying to get things done during his meetings.

The boy knew not to risk his ire in front of them, however, either sitting at his feet or hovering at his left side whenever the vampire wanted Voldemort to be affectionate.

And he got it, after everyone had vacated the meeting room. Nagini was almost jealous.

The Dark Lord was not attracted to the child. Attached, yes, but the boy possessed a certain rambunctious charm that absorbed attention better than a wardstone. And, once the child grew bored of clambering over him and settled into a pleasant conversation, he wasn’t bad company.

There was also something to be said for watching Lucius stiffen in something akin to fright whenever he was chosen to play the vampire’s chair.

* * *

The bruises were most obvious after a kill. Usually, the vampire waited a few days before rejoining him, claiming he needed time to digest. Voldemort had, for a while now, suspected that was only part of the answer.

And he was right.

The boy came when he was called a day before the next meeting, stepping through the shadows to the Dark Lord’s side. Though the child’s eyes were bright an alert, the purpling bruises underneath them were not a pretty sight. Nor were the hand-print shaped blotches on his arms.

Voldemort wrapped the small, fragile bundle in his cloak and lifted him into his lap, ignoring the purred threats and tucking the child’s head under his chin. He ignored the uncomfortable feeling of _something_ in his chest as well. It was nothing he needed.

“Don’t treat me like a child.” The vampire whined, putting up a brief struggle before settling into the embrace. Voldemort pretended not to see the wince and quirked a brow.

“You _are_ a child.” The pout looked rather out of place on the boy’s face instead of the wide grin normally present. Fingers that came too close to the child’s mouth were nipped in revenge. It didn’t hurt him, nor did it break skin, but he did remove them.

“No I’m not.” A brief respite of silence, then the whining continued. “I know what I’m doing, you know.”

“Of course.” Huffing, the vampire grew silent again. The Dark Lord didn’t quite manage to fight down the fond smile that flit across his lips. Insolent brat, he was.

* * *

“You said you wouldn’t harm them.” Voldemort growled, watching the child’s satisfied smile widen once he’d allowed his seat to leave. Wormtail had looked very much like he was either going to faint or squeal through the meeting, no doubt thanks to the vampire whispering in the Death Eater’s ear. The grin was quickly turned on him, glittering green eyes narrowing as the boy rose to sprawl ungracefully on the Dark Lord’s lap.

McNair was suspiciously missing from the group, and he knew exactly who to blame. If Voldemort had truly wanted to, he could’ve used the bruises against the child.

Instead, he allowed the boy to speak.

“And I told you, _my Lord_ , that I do not stand for depraved creatures. Take your concern for him elsewhere.” Teeth once again nipped at his jaw, biting deep enough to leave unsightly red marks. They both let the blood drip, down his chin and into his collar, and the Voldemort only leveled him with an unimpressed look.

The child merely tossed him another wicked little grin, staring up at him with blown pupils and no hint of his follower’s fear.

“You are not nearly worth the trouble.” The Dark Lord acquiesced, almost cursing the boy for his impudence, and tilted his head back slightly. He let out a delighted sound and a small tongue quickly darted out to lap up the drying trails down his neck. Voldemort tried not to shiver. There was a certain amount of intimacy in allowing a vampire to feed, willingly, and he knew the boy knew. But the child pulled back a moment later, breathless and laughing with his lips stained a particularly lovely shade of crimson.

“You’ll always be my favorite, my Lord.” The vampire breathed in his ear and, for once, his title held no hint of the usual sarcastic tone. He considered it an improvement.

The child slumped against his chest, still giggling under his breath and twisting his fingers in the Dark Lord’s robes. He leant his head against the back of the chair, eyes slipping closed without his permission. Voldemort was tired, more so than he’d expected. His neck was going to be stiff, but a nap wouldn’t go amiss at all. The Death Eaters knew better than to interrupt him.

Which, unfortunately, was when the boy decided to open his mouth.

“He’s not dead. Yet.” The vampire huffed from somewhere near his shoulder.

The Dark Lord barely stopped himself from groaning, swatting at the child halfheartedly. It didn’t connect but he stayed thankfully quiet, wild strands of hair brushing his stinging jaw when the boy curled closer.

* * *

Small, sharp nails dug into his arm while small, sharp teeth did the same to his wrist. It lasted less than a minute, from the prickling sensation of pain to the burning in his veins that involuntarily made him hiss forcefully. The pain dulled to nonexistence when the vampire’s tongue moved over the wounds and he pulled back.

Their eyes flicked up to meet his, pupils blown wide enough to swallow the unnatural green whole and his thoughts a jumbled mess of emotions and images. The child seemed drunk on the power, swaying slightly and just about tumbling out of his lap at the slightest motion.

Voldemort forced himself to throw off the daze of being a vampire’s meal, gently manhandling the child into a more comfortable position for them both and letting their legs drape over the side of his chair. The boy sighed happily and snuggled into the Dark Lord’s robes with a shiver. His hands were no longer trembling and he could probably stand to be in the Death Eaters’ presence without massacring anyone.

“Poor thing,” Voldemort murmured, condescension and slight scorn slipping into his voice without thought, “you must’ve been starved.” The child’s eyes flashed in anger, but apparently he didn’t feel like doing anything about it and losing his bed. The Dark Lord chuckled quietly.

“Sleep, child.” He ran a hand through the drowsing boy’s hair, picking up one of the latest reports to read through. The vampire did just that, fingers twisted in his robes and the faint rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was breathing at all.

* * *

“Who would want a _vampire_ on their side, anyway?” Came the quiet, amused whisper from behind his chair, the speaker’s breath just brushing the back of his left sleeve. Voldemort said nothing, watching most of his followers glance around at the suspicious lack of the vampire. They couldn’t hear the child safely sequestered behind the Dark Lord’s throne and out of view of their current guests.

It wouldn’t be wise to reveal his little secret to his spy, of course. Not now, when information he hadn’t approved of could be revealed to Dumbledore before they were ready to act. Voldemort smirked to himself, caressing his chin with long fingers.

Yes, they would wait to show their hand.

* * *

“Come with me.” The vampire was surprisingly strong, but only managed to get him out of his seat before throwing his hands up with a frustrated huff. After a wickedly sweet bout of begging, the Dark Lord allowed himself to be taken to the floo room.

“And where are we going?” Voldemort asked, raising a single eyebrow. The child’s grin should have split his face with how unreasonably wide it was.

“I want to show you off, of course.” And show him off he did.

The vampire was fully covered in the dying light, thick black gloves on his hands and his hood so low Voldemort was sure the child could barely see. He clung to the Dark Lord’s cloak easily, making it look like he was being led instead of leading the taller, glamoured man to the entrance of Knockturn Alley. The boy discretely looked around, making sure no one was watching, before tugging him in.

Their destination was one of the nicer bars on the shadowed street, a tall, lanky woman leaning casually beside the door with her arms crossed. Her eyes immediately snapped to the pair when the vampire stopped in front of her, before sliding from Voldemort like she’d lost interest. Her words said otherwise.

“Finally going to share your little meal, kid?” The child’s grip on his sleeve tightened and he could feel the predatory grin radiating from underneath the black hood.

“He has an invitation, Marlienne.” The woman’s honey-coloured eyes widened, darting back to the Dark Lord with unconcealed interest. He almost sneered. After a beat of silence, she nodded and waved her hand. The door swung open.

“Never one to settle for anything less than the best, hm, little lordling?” A slight hiss escaped the vampire, even as he attempted to drag Voldemort past Marlienne. Interesting.

The inside was far grander than the door, lit by flickering candles floating over the room and elegantly decorated in dark red wood and what looked like velvet. It was obviously a vampire establishment, judging by the menu and the incongruity of the patron’s dress. The child led him to one of the back tables, sliding into the booth and removing his hood.

“You can drop the glamour, they already know who you are.” The boy mumbled. Voldemort scowled, watching the several people looking their way with the same interest Marlienne showed.

“There better be a good reason for this, child.” He murmured back, wary and on edge despite the apparent protection the boy seemed to offer him here. The Dark Lord didn’t particularly care why, but it was as interesting as it was disturbing. The vampire appeared to be high-ranked here, and seen as more of an adult than humans treated him.

“Of course.” Glasses of wine appeared in front of them with a quiet chime, two empty ones on the other side of the booth. A small, well-timed cough from the side drew both of their gazes. The intruder was tall - taller than Voldemort’s unnatural height - and was dressed in bland grey robes, despite the richness of the jewellery adorning their fingers and neck.

“My apologies for being late, lordling. And guest.” The child visibly brightened, carefully removing his gloves to shake the offered hand. It was turned next on the Dark Lord, and he reluctantly did the same, eyes darting to the boy beside him.

So, even vampires didn’t use his name.

“No need, Luca. Please, sit.” Voldemort stayed silent through the exchange, observing each and the rest of the patrons with sharp, calculating eyes. The other vampire sat easily, filling the wine glass with something much darker than wine.

“So, this is where you’ve been running off to.” Luca commented, daintily taking a long sip. The child grinned and said nothing to refute it. Neither he or the Dark Lord touched their own drinks.

“Anyway,” the man continued, setting aside his glass to summon several papers into his hands and drawing Voldemort’s curiosity immensely, “about the treaty.”

The Dark Lord met the child’s eyes for a brief moment before sliding them onto the other vampire. This was what the boy had been planning for the past month, then. He forced down the grin that threatened to take over his face. _Sneaky little bastard_.


	6. Rise From the Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: time-travel shenanigans, hufflepuff!harry (why is that such a good trope), time-travel consequences, harry is raised in Wool's but retains memories of the past-future, etc

He wasn’t paying attention during the sorting. Nerves were creeping up on him despite his firm grip on his emotions and he hid his twitching fingers under the hems of his sleeves. Name after name after name, an endless blur of people he didn’t care about and houses he didn’t know. Until one made him pause, eyes darting up to the figure calmly walking toward the small stool.

Harrison Evans.

He _knew_ that name.

Knew it well. Tom’s eyes narrowed as the boy under the hat gave a rough-sounding cough, followed by a clear proclamation of ‘Hufflepuff’. The polite applause faded into background noise as Harrison went to his table and the next name was called.

Evans had come to Wool’s several years ago. And there was something wrong with him.

Not how the matron’s had decided there was something _Wrong_ with Tom, no, the slightly younger boy had some sort of blood disease that the caretakers hushed up and the other children gossiped heavily about. He hardly left his room and could barely walk, last Riddle knew. He’d assumed the other boy was several years younger than himself, for how small and thin he was. But, apparently, they were both eleven. Strange.

Then, it was his turn. The hat was barely on his head before it boomed a ‘Slytherin’.

Evans met his eyes once, only then, and with a small, satisfied smile the other child turned back toward his new housemates. Tom went to sit stiffly among his own.

* * *

They had few classes with the Hufflepuffs and, outside of the meals, he never ran into Harrison in the castle. Tom was, of course, intrigued. There had been another wizard living in the orphanage, right under his nose? It was also highly suspicious that he’d never heard mention of anything strange happening around the other. Children weren’t exactly quiet when it came to things that frightened them.

* * *

The sound of someone hacking up a lung in one of the more deserted corridors had Tom’s feet moving quickly in that direction. It could have been anyone, really, but his mind was convinced it was his conveniently-avoiding-him friend of a Hufflepuff. And it was.

Harrison was bent over, legs against the wall and his bag several metres in front of him, coughing harder than he’d ever seen him before. Something he was pretty sure looked like blood flecked the boy’s pale cheeks and his hands, while staining the standard black robe a little darker.

“Evans.” Tom said quietly, moving forward and picking up the other’s schoolbag, Harrison startled hard, standing up perhaps too quickly and nearly losing his balance. A small bit of emotion that threatened to rise in his chest was immediately squashed.

“Why aren’t you in the hospital wing?” He asked in the same tone, taking in the boy’s wide, unseeing eyes before he was forced to curl into himself with another cough.


	7. Knotted-Up Suit Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: modern!au with elements of the original canon, semi-canonical (past) child abuse, teacher!harry, ta!tom, HP/TMR, therapy and meds are good for you believe me

It was the little things.

Harry James Potter was good at hiding things. He was also good, excellent even, at looking innocent enough that most people believed the lies he told. Most, because while his Boss and several of his friends thought he was living the perfect life, some knew better.

Hermione had been the first to notice the scars and bruises. She was far too clever for her own good, all sharp eyes and infinite knowledge condensed into one person, and hadn’t bought his placating gestures at all. Ron, though he was wary of the lies, didn’t push like his girlfriend did, only offering him a shoulder to lean on whenever he needed it. Harry tried not to need it too much.

No amount of ‘ _I’m fine, no really guys_ ’ could hide the dark circles under his eyes or the way he flinched whenever someone raised their voice too close to him.

He tried. Harry had been trying for ages, for what seemed like centuries, to be as normal as possible. He had a regular job, a semi-steady girlfriend, and a rather dedicated therapist that he saw once a week. It should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

Not when he had languages floating in his head and Latin on his tongue, swirling in memories that weren’t his own or even close to reality. Mrs. Johnson said everyone had fantasies. Everyone had places they wished they were instead and there was nothing wrong in indulging them in a healthy manner. Harry wasn’t sure he’d count the piles of notebooks on his bookshelf, filled from cover to cover with things he didn’t know how he knew, as healthy. But he tried to cope.

Two small pills with a glass of water when he first woke up, followed by another two at breakfast. One more at lunch, another at dinner, and finally three before bed. Medicine was normal. No need to be ashamed to have a little help. It kept him to a strict routine, which he appreciated. Routines were good, allowing him to step over his fears and function in a relatively normal way. He could teach classes without breaking down into tears during his planning period. It was relatively peaceful.

Relatively.

* * *

Professor Harry Potter was a thin, relatively good-looking man in what most guessed were his mid-twenties with wild, unruly black hair and bright green eyes. He wore glasses but, according to several of his students, it didn’t detract from his overall appearance. It was also painfully obvious that the teacher didn’t have a molecule of respect for his fellow professors and was exceedingly casual in both dress and personality. Interesting.

The teaching assistant frowned, looking over the information he was given on the professor and sitting back in the coffee shop’s chair. He’d have to keep an eye on him, just in case something troubling came up.


	8. Like A Dog Inspires A Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: emotional abuse, magical!dudley, squib!petunia, and all the little joys that come with dudley going to hogwarts

Uncle Vernon was a careful man.

Which was why, after Petunia’s scream and the subsequent sobbing mess she’d turned into after reading the letter, he thought things over very, very carefully.

The Dursleys were a perfectly normal family, thank you very much.

Adopting the boy came with the hassle of nearly endless paperwork and an entire month’s salary, but it was done. The boys would be raised as upstanding, proper british citizens and that would be the end of it.

In another universe, Harry would grow up told his parent’s had died in a car crash. In this universe, he learnt about the world. 

Vernon knew that his darling Petunia came with some oddities. So when Dudley had thrown a tantrum about breaking a toy and had also thrown several things against the walls without touching them, he had swept his son’s little oddities underneath the rug as well. Family came first.

He was, perhaps, glad that the boys were thick as thieves. It kept them out of Petunia’s hair - either crowded around the telly arguing over something on the screen, or out and about with other boys their age.

On Dudley’s eleventh birthday, everything changed. The letter was thick and old-fashioned, Witchcraft boldly proclaimed on the front. What had the mailman thought of that, Petunia tittered, worried the man would gossip as he was wont to do with the housewives that bothered to greet him.


	9. Tombs and Standing Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: soulmate!au, eventual TMR/HP, prophecies are all the rage, age differences, loving godfathers sirius and severus,

From the moment Harry James Potter could talk, his parents and godparents knew that he’d be in Slytherin. It was undeniable. (‘It’s the Black in him,’ Sirius would crow, despite being firmly entrenched in Gryffindor himself. Severus would sneer but agree.)

(Harry and Draco didn’t get along, even as toddlers.)

Tom Riddle, professor of Defense at Hogwarts, sipped at a glass of firewhiskey while Severus and Pettigrew argued over the Potion’s Master’s Godson. He was mildly curious over the way they did so, hushed tones and frequent glances his way, but allowed a slow smile to curl at his lips when he cleared his throat and they both stopped dead in their words.

(Everyone and their pet had a prophecy now, since Dumbledore had started this vogue off by “saving the world” from Grindelwald with his own lackluster one.)

_The best of friends and the greatest of enemies_ , scrawled across the headmaster’s door. His prophecy, in all it’s inane glory. Tom would have rolled his eyes, if he weren’t being so polite to the old coot.

(His own is buried deep within the locket close to his heart, baffling words wrapped up together in a handwriting that was not his own.)

( _Basilisk’s venom, Phoenix’s tears, Dementor’s kiss, Death’s own fear_. It reads more like a whimsical potion’s recipe than an actual prophecy, but the words have been repeating through his mind since he’d turned ten.)

( _Trust no one but Him, and even then trust Him the least_.)

The Potter heir is a wild, mistrustful scrap of a child in appearance. Tom almost feared for the worst when the boy ascended the stars for the sorting. If the older Weasley’s got their claws in him, who knows what the school would do.

(James and Sirius hadn’t exactly left the best impression on the staff; he could see McGonagall cringe from here.)


	10. The Holly Bears the Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: pre-slash TMR/HP, age difference, time-travel shenanigans, hufflepuff!Harry, prefect!harry

Tom was very, very good at sneaking around without getting caught.

* * *

 

“Mr. Riddle?” Came a startling voice. Tom turned, not expecting the black and gold robes of a hufflepuff prefect coming up behind him. By the looks of it, it was a seventh year - Evans, if he remembered right, and he usually did. The prefect was rather well spoken-of outside his house, despite being a muggleborn, and was far more lenient with the younger years than the other prefects. Tom could have laughed.

* * *

Evans’ quiet lecture on the way back to his dorm was almost easily ignored. But he made vague assumptions on the inner workings of the slytherin house that were actually on the mark, despite having - to his knowledge - very few inter house friends. It was odd and slightly disconcerting, leaving Tom off-kilter by the time he reached the entrance to the common room.

“I’m not going to take points as this is the first time I’ve ever heard of you outside past curfew, but please take more caution in the future, yeah? There’s scarier things than a hufflepuff out there.” Evans smiled lightly at his own joke before touching Riddle’s shoulder absently. It was feather-light and almost nothing at all but the brush of fingers against the fabric of his cloak but he seemed startled to find himself doing it, taking his hand away an instant later.

“Have a good night, Mr. Riddle.” When he stepped through to the common room, Tom paused, thinking over Evans’ words again.

Did a prefect just tell him not to get caught next time he stayed out past curfew?

* * *

Evans caught him out of bed three more times before the winter holidays. This made number four for the year.

“Honestly.” The prefect huffed, a rather amused smile lingering on his face.


	11. (Wait) Take It Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: pre-established TMR/HP, time travel but not really, just wanted to write something fluffy okay

“Why do I even bother?” Tom groused at his companion, running his fingers through the soft black strands that tickled his chin and neck. The dorm room was quiet, and he could faintly see the outline of his curtains in the dim moonlight. A loud snore came from somewhere nearby and, if he was right, it was from Malfoy’s bed.

“You know, most people wouldn’t even try.” Came the unrepentant answer from somewhere near his shoulder. Harrison was sprawled atop him, the smaller student’s soft grip on his hips a familiar comfort. They spent most of the night like that, until the moonlight was replaced by the darkening of dawn and Evans rolled off him with a low groan. There wasn’t much they could do anyway, with their dormmates so close and the sheer exhaustion of studying for exams not leaving either the strength to cast a silencing charm.

“Tomorrow.” Tom promised with a murmur, letting his hand trail after the other and a smile grace his lips at the quiet chuckle.

“ _Tomorrow_.” Harrison repeated. He leant forward to press a kiss to Riddle’s knuckles before slipping through the curtains and into his own bed.

Yes, tomorrow they could take a moment out of their busy schedules to relax, since it was a Hogsmeade weekend and their roommates would be out most of the day. It was well worth the trip of the Room of Requirement.

* * *

Harrison - and, by extension, Tom - was extremely reluctant to let their relationship come to light. They both knew the damage rumours could do, and had thus decided it was best they only be seen as little more than study partners. Or, in Riddle’s case, a tutor, considering how much his companion disliked studying, and Harrison seemed to hate homework even more than that. So it wasn’t far-fetched to see them sitting together in the library or partnered in classes, though their circles at meals were quite different.

 _Baby snakes_ , as Harrison referred to Tom’s acquaintances, though the implied meaning was far darker than the name suggested with Evans’ particularly cruel leer. Riddle just rolled his eyes and called the other’s friends _cowards_.

Not in front of the other houses, however. No, Slytherin was a unified faction when outside of their rooms or in any situation where they could be overheard.


	12. Ne'er a Spray of Yew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themes: COS au, slytherin!harry, diary!tom is bored, and all the associated tropes that come with the horcrux

Lucius Malfoy had already chosen his target for the small leather-bound journal underneath his robes - the youngest Weasley girl, starting her first year and so very nervous next to her parents in Flourish and Blotts. He didn't pay more than a passing glance at the boy trying to edge his way around his and Mr. Weasley’s confrontation (Slytherin by his dark green robes and probably half-blood by his slouch, no pureblood would ever allow such a stance in public) until his cane upended the wrong cauldron and he was forced to think on his feet. It didn't matter whose hands the diary fell into, only that is was far away from his own library and Draco’s wandering fingers. With the change of plans, Lucius still sneered at the wide-eyed child, glasses askew and half-familiar (he looked like a Potter but everyone knew the Potters were dead), still brushed the scuffle off his shoulders, and still tossed the rest of the books into the boy’s cauldron before gliding out of the shop.

Harry didn’t know what to think.

* * *

The journal he’d found amongst his schoolbooks was just that, a beautiful tome with silken pages and an inscription of someone’s initials on the inside cover.

T. M. R.

He didn't touch the book for the first few weeks after its discovery, unsure what to write and not willing to tear any pages out at a mistake. Finally, to pass time on the train to Hogwarts, Harry decided on an easy-to-reference potions notebook with wide enough margins to doodle in (he had no patience to actually read through the textbook instead of skimming along looking for interesting things and the books weren’t in order, like they should have been). On the first page, with a brand new quill and the poisonously green ink he’d snapped up at a small shop on the corner of Diagon and Knockturn, he wrote the date - and underneath that, in his finest penmanship, he wrote his name.

The pages between his hands grew interested.

The fist recipe he’d chosen for the journal was a simple one, with the most basic ingredients and instructions. It was slightly disappointing when the green brightened before fading to a dull black, but Harry supposed it was easier to read that way.

He grew bored after a few potions, finding himself more in the margins than the text and sketching in the frame of the window he was seated next to. The scenery outside wasn’t added to the drawing, moving too fast to even see half of it, but the biggest surprise was when the diary allowed the lines to stay green.

Then, it started drawing back. Snakes, mostly. Black as sin and rearing to strike.

Harry responded by drawing a nice little hat on the largest one, only to have it fade into the pages a few moments later. He couldn’t suppress the grin across his lips. All of the others received similar decorations, one a top hat and another a fancy-looking tie, and almost all of his artwork faded immediately. Almost, because the journal found of the snakes coloured in green appealing, apparently.


End file.
